
PS 3545 
.H495 
P6 
1912 
Copy 1 




Class. 

Book._ 

Copyright N". 



U^'-; -3 :'. A. "C 



3 ! Z. 



COBfRIGHT DEPOSrr 



POEMS 



SELDEN L. WHITCOMB 




RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 



Copyright, 1912, by Selden L. Whitcomb 



All Rights Reserved 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. a. 



©CI.A3a8334 



'L,i^^ I 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Maker 5 

Lesson for the Day 7 

Songs 8 

Mid-Sea and Harbor 9 

Cry of the Lyric Poets 9 

The Call 10 

The Rebuke 1 1 

The Hour of Healing 12 

Behind the Scenes I3 

Stage Memomes 14 

Art's Wide Domain 16 

Spring Song 17 

Kinship 18 

On Wansfell Pike 19 

The Katydid at Blea Tarn Cottage 20 

A Day in France 21 

In the New Hampshire Hills 23 

Storm in Plymouth Harbor 25 

Lester River Path 26 

Roses of Everett 27 

"Prairie and Sky Are Enough" 28 

The Homesteader 29 

"Slowly at Last" 31 

"Rest Upon Me, Dusky Eyes" 32 

Two Women 32 

Invitations 33 

The Avowal 35 

The Appointed Hour 36 

Intellectual Communion 37 

"Every Song Within My Heart" 38 

The Answer 39 

By the Lily Beds 40 

Ave Atque Vale 41 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Homeward Flight 42 

Man and Woman 43 

The Night of Parting 44 

Alone 45 

"/ Dinna Ken" 46 

Ebb and Flow 47 

To-Day 48 

The Unfulfilled 49 

An Autumnal Dirge $0 

A n Easter Creed 51 

Song of a Brother 52 

The Inheritance 53 

Individuality 54 

My Own 55 

Challenge to the Quest 56 

To the Outward-Bound 57 

The Little Things 58 

The Wanderer 59 

The Search 60 

To a Leader 61 

The Waif -Dream 62 

A Mood of the Gloaming 63 

A Mood of the Morning 64 

Comrades of Mine 65 

"Working Together" 66 

Twilight by the Mall 67 

Insight 68 

Three Visitors 69 

The Common Day 'JO 

Homeward Bound 7' 

Cadences 72 

Songs Before Death 73 

The Final Choice 73 

The Perfect Word 74 

Harbor Song 75 



THE MAKER 



My hope was high that two or three 

Among my fellow mortals 
Would brave their pilgrimage with me 
As far as the final portals. 

Long leagues have passed, and only one 
Toiled with me in the by-way, 

And with the yester-moming sun 
He sought the pleasant highway. 

I dreamed one soul through good and ill 
Would call me friend or master, 

But he has shown a traitor's will 
And faith has met disaster. 

I thought, to-day the sun will glow, 
To guerdon months of weeping. 

But here and there as on I go 
The clouds are ever creeping. 

Now rises in my soul the strength 

To be with God partaker. 
To follow this lone path whose length 

Leads to the Master Maker. 



n 



Once in the days of youthful pride 
I prayed in realms of mind and heart 

To travel boldly far and wide, 
To gather treasures for my art. 

Year after year responsive Fate 

Has scourged me over hill and shore, 

Has battered down the granite gate, 
Broken the bars of the iron door. 

O, wealth of folly, suffering, sin, 
Won from many a terrible land: 

Now I pray one hour wherein 

God will guide my shaping hand. 



LESSON FOR THE DAY 

No time for the lily and none for the rose, 
No time to watch how the apple-tree grows, 
Or to follow the lad as he garners or sows. 

No time for reverie, no time for rest, 
To linger in valley or climb to the crest, 
To welcome the warbler or search for the nest. 

No time in December and none in July 
To study the stars of our own native sky — 
No time for living and scarce time to die. 

No time for manners, for loving a friend, 
To speculate whither the pathway shall wend— 
Whether Nothing or Love awaits at the end. 

O poet, open the treasures of time. 
Be lavish of leisure, gay or sublime. 
Stay long in the silences, fashioning rhyme! 



SONGS 

Bom of the snow, of the summer, 
Born of the rain and the drouth; 

Born of each birdling new-comer 
Winging its way from the south. 

Sung by the wind, by the billows 

Beating the shuddering ship ; 
Sung by the blossoming willows 

Where honeybees hover and sip. 

Born from the faith, the believing 
Men were loyal, firm, unafraid — 

Born from the doubt, from the grieving 
Of thy soul abandoned, betrayed. 

Heard by the mounds in God's acre, 
Hiding the souls that were true; 

Heard in the will of our Maker 
Calling to me and to you. 



MID-SEA AND HARBOR 

Have ye fear then to sing of to-day, 
That ye sing only songs of the past? 

Does the dream of the sea's lonely way 
Mar the beauty where anchor is cast? 

Sing of life on the neighboring shore, 
Of the stir of the wharf and the street ; 

When the blasts of the mid-ocean roar 
Thy songs of the land shall be sweet ! 

CRY OF THE LYRIC POETS 

Always a singing word 

To follow smile or sob; 
Always the master Art is heard 

Above their own heart-throb. 

The songless ones complain, 
"Had we their magic voice 

The unborn age would feel our pain. 
The world with us rejoice." 

The saint may long for sin. 
The sinner for sanctity — 

They cry for a songless depth within 
The soul's own secrecy. 



THE CALL 

Sing no more of the meadow brook 
That wanders amid the grasses; 
Sing no more of the lover's look 
When the careless maiden passes ; 

But sing of passion that endureth, large, 
Sweeping the soul to life's untrodden marge. 

Sing of Peruvian peaks that rise 

In silence, barren, regal ; 
Unseen, unsought of human eyes. 
Too lonely for the eagle ; 

Where only the winds of God are unafraid 
To search the eternal terrors He has made. 

Sing of the souls who challenge Death 

When the years are fairest, royal ; 
Of one with shattered form who saith, 
"My commander proves disloyal ; 

The wide earth waits and ages yet to be — 
Bravo! I fight so long as I can see!" 



lO 



THE REBUKE 

"I am poet and" — and what? 
Cringing slave of sense, perhaps, 
Peering as the curtain flaps 
From the canvas dressing-room 
While Queen Lotta sprays perfume — 
Heaven forgive you, I cannot. 

"I am poet and" — and what? 
Mystic in the Church, maybe, 
Soul absorbed in ecstacy 
At the priestly mutterings 
While the silver censer swings — 
So you worship? — I cannot. 

"I am poet and" — and what? 

Stupor, chaos, then the call 

To creation's wonder-hall, 

That the slumbering Forms be stirred 

By thy glad, imperial word — 

Have ye faltered ? — I cannot. 

"I am poet and" — and what? 
Calmer joy or fiercer throe 
Can the searching spirit know? 
Is there aught to do or dare 
More desired of God elsewhere? — 
You may find it, I cannot. 



I! 



THE HOUR OF HEALING 

They felt at last the wooing magic 

Of clarinet and flute; 
Of the wailing oboe, mystic, tragic, 

Of the trombone's bold salute. 

They heard the sudden cymbals clashing, 
The roll of the kettle-drum; 

They saw the bows of the viols flashing 
Till they had overcome. 

A silence, then a choral singing 
That mingled awe with mirth, 

As it now dared, now dreaded, bringing 
Heaven down to earth. 

Sustaining all, the melancholy 

Or riotous organ-roll 
Rebuked the fever and the folly 

Of each despairing soul. 

O silvery singing, brazen thunder. 

In triumphant final note; 
O echoing plaudits, loving wonder, 

For him who dreamed and wrote! 

Fearless of fate, his soul has spoken 
And the souls of men have heard ; 

The spell of the Enemy is broken 
By Art with her healing word. 



12 



BEHIND THE SCENES 

Dull properties and dingy wings, 
A dusty glass in the make-up room, 

For a poet's dream from across the seas; 
A widow's voice that scorns and stings 
Flung from the happiest maid who sings — 
An evening mingling the mysteries 
That abide with man till the day of doom! 

With clouded face, with threatening hand, 
You banished the hero from home and heart- 
That saddened one with glances wild — 
To exile in that imprisoned band 
Whom none may love or understand; 

And now we sighed and now we smiled, 
Moved by the mystery of Art. 

"Exit angrily" — and you 

Came radiant from the mimic strife. 
Then something in our hearts that slept 
Awoke and cried, though no one knew, 
And while we waited for the cue 

We cared not whether we smiled or wept, 
Moved by the mystery of Life. 



13 



STAGE MEMORIES 

{In a Prairie Village Club-Room) 

Prairie, prairie, everjovhere! 

O how far the dear old merry 
Hours of bliss in Herald Square! 
Ada Rehan as the Shrew; 
Irving crouching as the Jew, 
While the sweet, the splendid, Terry 
Wins the verdict firm and true ! 

We bent double, you and I, 

At Jefferson in Rip van Winkle — 
Rip's own Hudson flowing by: 

(Muddy Platte, alas, to-day! ) 
Why, the stars above Broadway 
Seemed to laugh with us, to twinkle 
As if they had seen the play! 

Cross the pond — to Albert Hall! 

Patti still supremely singing — 
Musical as a waterfall — 

Daring aria, simple song. 
To the wondering London throng; 
In our hearts the echoes ringing 
Kept us smoking all night long! 

Cross the Channel — dream of France! 

That one night with Mounet-Sully — 
(Ah, your eyes begin to dance! ) 

How he writhed across the stage — 
Artist? — Demon! — in the rage 
Of a Hamlet acted really 
Once at least within our age ! 



14 



"Surely memories are best — 

Here where money rules emotion, 
In the rude and selfish West! 

Brilliant skies at night and morn 
Smile above alfalfa, corn, 
But the grace of Art's devotion 
In far other lands is born." 

Shame upon you — land of dearth? 

English music, Eastern story 
Pass, like Puck, around the earth, 

With words of genial bantering — 
"Flutter, little heart" — that bring 
Echoes of Art's world-wide glory 
By the lips of Pitti-Sing. 

David Garrick, Pinafore, 

Ibsen, Sheridan, Van Eeden, 
Waiting at our prairie door! 

And I know in days to be. 

Musing on far land or sea, 

Norseland hero, Nippon maiden, 

Shall smile across the years for me! 



1"5 



ART'S WIDE DOMAIN 

Art loves the deep, abiding peace 
That broods within cathedrals dim; 
The burning Bacchic choral hymn 

Whose music maddened the maids of Greece; 

The master hand upon the bow 

Weaving the dreams of a golden age; 
The soul oblivious on the stage 

Of all save the weight of Hamlet's woe ; 

The pain forever marble-sealed 

Of strugglers in the serpent's fold ; 
The Virgin arms that Jesus hold, 

The peasants praying in the field. 

Art deems no stranger small or great 
Within her realm of joy and tears; 
Who worships her and humbly fears 

Is welcome at each open gate. 



i6 



SPRING SONG 

Young robin bills are across the nest 

In the maple ever greener; 
The season is fair as a welcome guest, 
The oriole fluting east and west 

Should make my soul serener. 

Against the blue is a radiant spire 

Beyond long grassy reaches; 
But in my heart the old desire 
That withered, scarred, my soul with fire. 

Awakens and beseeches! 

O, in my soul the pain of Spring, 

The ecstacy of Beauty; 
Her kiss I crave, her song I sing — 
Till at last with sudden cry I cling 

To the gray, worn robe of Duty! 



17 



KINSHIP 

He bends to pluck a dainty bloom 

That noddeth in the mead — 
'Tis the yellow fruit of Arachne's womb 

Clustering low on a weed. 

He runs through the woods till his breath is spent 

And he hears his own heart beat — 
From a mossy log a partridge sent 

A call to his comrade sweet. 



i8 



ON WANSFELL PIKE 

The hum of the bees mid the heather, 
The slumber of sheep in the brakes; 

The glory of sunniest weather 

On the hills, the tarn, and the lakes. 

The rush of the breezes blowing 
From summits afar in the west ; 

The murmuring mountain brook flowing 
To the vale like a lark to her nest. 

The jet of a falcon's lost feather, 
Low-fallen from loftiest flight. 

On the glowing, velvety heather. 
Empurpled in afternoon light. 

Over woods, over isles of Winander, 
Far south to the sands of the sea. 

Reality sweeter and grander 

Than the dreams of a dreamer may be. 

O Nature, beloved, together; 

After years of estrangement, the rest 
Of thy child lying long in the heather, 

His heart throbbing close to thy breast! 



19 



THE KATYDID AT BLEA TARN 
COTTAGE* 

On yonder moor the philosophic brain 
And poet-spirit struggled long to cope 
With doubt, the labyrinthine, wherein grope 

Those stricken souls who dare not trust again. 

From this lone cottage passed the funeral train 
And wound its way across the rapid slope, 
Casting upon our craving human hope 

The shadows of our human loss and pain. 

All night from out that tiny upper room 
Where once the secrets of the thinker slept, 
We watched the timeless summits dark and 
dread 
Beneath the Northern Star, while through the 
gloom, 
Sole, chilling, sound amid the silence, crept 
Insistent cry, "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead" 



*The home of "The Solitary" in Wordsworth's 
"Excursion," and one of the loneliest dwellings in 
England. 



20 



A DAY IN FRANCE 

In the Bay of Salnt-Malo 

Many a gleaming sea-gull dips, 
Be the tide or high or low, 

Down between the battle-ships — 
Modem shield and modem lance, 
Eager for the foes of France. 

Guarding yet the ancient town 

Are the granite gates and wall; 
Church and castle, each is crown 
On the brow majestical. 

From its mingled power and grace, 
Of a world-renowned place. 

O, the beauty of the beach 

In the summer sun and air — 
Gay as far as eye may reach 
With the children everywhere 
Shaping of the plastic sand 
Forms for love to understand ! 

Blue and silvery the sea 

Smiles beneath a sister sky, 
And yon sailboat seems to be 
Center of the mystery — 
Soul of color, motion, form, 
Safe forever from the storm. 

Northward far a line of red 

Winds between the sea and wall; 
Fancy hears the martial tread, 
Tap of drum and captain's call — 
Now upon Saint-Malo's shore, 
Soon in foreign battle-roar. 

2,1 



There a girlish diver leaps, 

Shouting and half-terrified 
Though the shimmering ocean sleeps 
Heedless of the trembling bride, 
While the mother shouts in glee 
At the maiden's ecstacy. 

Ah "Suzanne, Suzanne," how soon 
Seemed familiar name and face; 
Every girlish word a tune. 
Every motion perfect grace, 
As you ran with flowing hair, 
Limbs of Venus, lithe and bare. 

Ah, "Suzanne, Suzanne," how soon 

Duty shadowed our delight; 
That sweet dreamy afternoon 
Darkened into lonely night, 
And a distant lingering glow 
Faded, passed, from Saint-Malo. 

Joys of fancy, joys of France 

Dying with the hours of youth! 
Is it God or is it chance. 
Is it fate or is it truth. 

Whispers, "Heart, one day was thine. 
Be the years of labor mine?" 



22 



IN THE NEW HAMPSHIRE HILLS 

The shifting shadows mingle 
With sunlight on Mount Carr; 

The drowsy cowbells tinkle 
On pasture slopes afar. 

The cheery swifts are circling 

Across the cloud and clear, 
Though all the oaks and beeches 

Lament the dying year. 

Down in the sleeping valley, 

Lie ripening fields of corn; 
Over rock and pebble murmurs 

The river, mountain-born. 

The goldfinch still is wearing 

His summer black and gold, 
And in the glowing maple 

The vireo's tune is bold. 

Beyond the pasture border 

Of lichen-covered wall, 
Within the woodland shelter. 

The merry chipmunks call. 

The thistle-sprites are sailing 

Across the fragrant ferns; 
On goldenrod and milkweed 

The bumblebees take turns. 

Grasshopper and cicada 

Are offering a tune 
To the spirit of the summer 

And the lazy afternoon. 
23 



Prone by a granite boulder", 
We dream, forget and rest. 

Till human toil seems evil, 
And life with Nature best. 

Alas, alas, for the passing 
Of days so rare and sweet, 

Alas for the heedless city. 
The fever heat of the street. 

O heart, O heart, remember, 
Through coming grief and ills. 

This hour when God was near thee, 
Upon the New Hampshire hills! 



24 



STORM IN PLYMOUTH HARBOR 

The air is hot, and the leaf stirs not 
On the outermost twig of the beeches; 

The waning day turns a threatening gray 
As far as the vision reaches. 

The swifts dart high toward a leaden sky, 
The sails have crept home to their mooring, 

The wind-demons brood in a sullen mood, 
And the deeps of the ocean are luring. 

Yet fear not the flash of the lightning, nor crash 
Of the thunder, though echoes return it; 

Bid the tempest blow, for the lamps are aglow 
In the sister lights on the Gurnet. 

Though the sea grows white as a woman in fright, 
And the foam through the harbor is leaping, 

The Lord of all years is calming our fears 
By the lights of the Gurnet unsleeping. 



25 



LESTER RIVER PATH 

Where does it lead, this woodland walk? 
By the scarlet berries of twisted-stalk 
To the haunts of rabbit, bee and hawk; 

By the amber shallow, the waterfall. 
By the blackened bole of a pine-tree tall. 
By brush where the hermit thrushes call; 

Longside the brook where the lingering foot 
Sways goldenrod and rattlesnake root. 
The aster blossoms and buttercup fruit. 

By boulder and branch the chipmunk is merry, 
Droop in the shadow, green and black berry. 
Red in the sun is the brilliant wild cherry. 

Still in the poplars a vireo whistles. 

Though a goldfinch is prying deep in the bristles 

Of the flaunting, threatening, wayside thistles. 

We have peered in vain for a blackcoated bear, 
But we've found the birch and the cedar fair 
In the fragrant chill of mountain air; 

And here where the autumn breeze caresses 
The delicate bloom of the ladies-tresses 
Is a lovely spot where the heart confesses! 



26 



ROSES OF EVERETT 

Forget-me-nots near the Rigi snow, 

Cardinal flowers by the cranberry marsh, 
Arbutus where the frosts are low 
And the winds of April harsh; 
But there is room in memory yet 
For roses of Everett. 

Gay poppies of Alsace-Lorraine, 

Sweet heather on the Cheviot Hills, 
White moonflower of the Dakota plain. 
Red-bud by Missouri rills; 

But there is room in memory yet 
For roses of Everett. 

On the laborer's hat or the maiden's breast. 

Or nodding welcome across the lawn; 
Red with the evening skies of the west 
Or white with the misty dawn — 
O there is room in memory yet 
For roses of Everett! 



27 



"PRAIRIE AND SKY ARE ENOUGH" 

I longed for the bloom of an apple-tree, 

A cardinal song from the bluff; 
But the moon is bright, the plain like a sea. 
The cry of the cranes is a mystery — 

Prairie and sky are enough! 

I longed for the Bay of Saint Brelade, 

Violet, crimson and hufi; 
But now when the plumes of the milkweed pod 
Sail over shanty and furrows of sod — 

Prairie and sky are enough ! 

I longed for a glimpse of the Alpine vale 

From the Rigi barren and rough; 
But the circling plovers dip and wail 
As a coyote crosses the buffalo-trail — 
Prairie and sky are enough ! 



78 



THE HOMESTEADER 

When I first heard the mockingbird sing 
In the groves of the Arkansas River, 
When I watched the wheat ripening 
On the plains of Dakota a-quiver — 
Where the gulls were soaring as free 
As the gulls of the Baltic sea — 
How I pitied the King! 

I have built my sod-house on the claim, 
Paid taxes from prairie-wolf bounty; 
I have seen the prairie-fire flame 
A hundred miles over one county; 

Prairie schooners have sailed by my door, 
The rattlesnake crawled on my floor — 
But no King knew my name! 

When in April, mid sunshine and hail, 

I hear the prairie-cocks booming; 
When I follow the buffalo-trail 

Where the mallows and roses are blooming, 
And the bobolinks bubbling in tune 
Are telling the secrets of June — 
Royal glory is pale! 

I have lingered at noon in the heat 

With the owl at the prairie-dog burrow, 
Heard the wings of the water-fowl beat 
At midnight above frosty furrow; 
Yea, even with cornfields laid low 
By the cyclone's demoniac blow, 
My freedom is sweet. 



29 



Not alone in success or the sting 

Of failure — along with my fellows 
I harrow and plant in the spring, 

And work till the corn-kernel yellows. 
We are building an empire of peace 
Where the tramping of armies shall cease, 
And none hear of the King! 



30 



"SLOWLY AT LAST" 

Slowly at last from the crowded harbor 

Puts out a ship to sea; 
Slowly at last all the flutes and viols 

Are tuned into harmony ; 
Slowly at last the barren branches 

Burst into perfect tree; 
Slowly at last from the world of faces, 

One face for me! 

Swift as a ship when wind and waters 

With the will of the master lie; 
Swift as ever the yearning music 

Passes from low to high ; 
Swift as fruit ever follows blossom 

When the summer days are nigh — 
Knoweth the heart after years of doubting, 

Love cannot die! 



31 



"REST UPON ME, DUSKY EYES" 
(From the German of Lenau) 

Rest upon me, dusky eyes, 
Sway me with your might; 

Earnest, gentle, dreamy eyes, 
Unfathomed sweets of night! 

With thy magic midnight art 

Melt the world away ; 
That you only o'er my heart 

May hover, aye and aye! 

TWO WOMEN 

Three thousand years ago God granted rest 

To one, in marble halls Egyptian ; 

Veiling the glory of her holy plan. 
Or shame of sin her ashen lips confessed. 

And one has reaped within our feverish West 
Since first her harvest-days of life began : — 
What joy is spared from labor's winnowing-fan ? 

What faith to cherish on her lover's breast? 

My fancy cries unto that shriveled form 
Across the futile, alien ages till 

It wins the answering whisper, "Yes, my own." 
Those lips of living silence, cold or warm. 
May doom my exiled soul to darker ill — 
Or crown it on the long-deserted throne! 



32 



INVITATIONS 
I 

O come from thy guarded and curtained home 

Into the sunlight and air; 
It is a day to dream and to roam, 

To love and to dare. 

Long I have waited, will you not come 

Away from thy silent hall? — 
The sheep are breakfasting, honeybees hum, 

And the robins call. 

Up to the wind-swept crest of the hill 
To the birches, the poplars, the pines. 

Or down to the valley, with meadow and rill, 
Daisies and vines. 

Just for a day — ^with Nature and me! 

After my heart has confessed. 
Why, back to thy silence and secrecy — 

Or home to my breast! 



33 



II 



"The spring, the rivulet, river, 

The majestic embrace of the sea — 
Ah love ! speed faster, freer 

From the springs of self unto me!" 

"But the sand of the sea is sterile, 

And the rocks are veiled by the foam ; 
It is here in the moss and the heather 
God has ordained my home." 

"O love, the depth and the distance. 
And many a prayer and a groan 
Of the faint who struggle and perish. 
Leaving us free and alone !" 

"Woe is me! shall I go, and forever 
Be sad for the heather and sheep? 
Woe is me! shall I stay, and forever 
Yearn for t-he storms of the deep?" 



34 



THE AVOWAL 

I must love you, my lady, till life has grown gray. 
Though other hearts waver and sever; 

Love for an hour, love for a day, 

Love till the roses have faded away — 
Love you forever, forever. 

I must love you, my lady, as free as a bird. 

In defiance of form and of fashion ; 
Love you in silence, or love you in word 
That bursts from the fathomless depth within 
stirred 

By the fated, imperative passion. 

I must love you, my lady, under sun, under moon. 

In solacing sleep and in labor; 
In the foul city street at feverish noon, 
In sweet winds that sigh on the long, lonely dune, 

With the languorous sea only neighbor. 

I must love you, my lady, when the moment is 
blessed 

With tributes of laughter and laurel ; 
When failure, shame and disease have distressed. 
When only the legend, storm-blotted, "At Rest," 

Remains for mortality's moral. 

I must love you though Fate and your lips decree 
"Nay," 
Though between us Atlantic, Pacific; 
Love as one in that gloomy forest astray 
Who followed his guides by the strange, ghostly 
way 
To the vision, the life beatific. 

35 



THE APPOINTED HOUR 

The glacier, mammoth, buffalo 

Once crept across this plain; 
In darkness, moonlight, morning glow. 

You may search for them in vain. 

Here fighting heroes of North and South 

Lie calmly side by side, 
And the lips that craved the maiden's mouth 

Long years have been denied. 

Here, above the unheeding dead. 

One hour for you and me ; 
One word to utter or leave unsaid 

In the chilling secrecy. 

The poets will sing in the days that yet 

For centuries must wait; 
But they shall not remember, shall not forget 

Our answer unto Fate. 

Shall our spirits fail, our lips be dumb. 

Stricken with evil shame. 
When the very angels of God have come 

With the gift of heavenly name? 

Shall we choose the word so madly sweet 

The rebellious self desires. 
To find the pathway at our feet 

Aflame with devouring fires? 

Shall we choose the word serene and strong 

That wisdom uttereth 
When she fashions into fearless song 

Her challenge unto death ? 
36 



INTELLECTUAL COMMUNION. 

Across the leagues of frozen prairie sweep 

The midnight winds, with cruel, ravenous sound 
As if their mad, insatiate fangs had found 

A cluster of abandoned, moaning sheep. 

The village revelers have sought their sleep; 
But fantasies of fresher flame around 
Our hearth are proof of love too rarely crowned 

With long-desired response of deep to deep. 

To luxury of Soul not now subdued. 
Nor bound embittered in the wilderness 
Of Sense, the nobly liberated Mind 
Searches her calm and native solitude 

For some triumphant thought wherewith to bless 
The world where soul and sense are inter- 
twined. 



37 



"EVERY SONG WITHIN MY HEART" 

Every song within my heart 

Blesses you ; 
But when melodies depart, 

Love is true. 

Be thou mother, sister, friend, 

Food and drink; 
Let us of no alien end 

Dare to think. 

Be the blossoms of my May, 

Summer shower; 
Of the dim, wild winter day 

Fireside hour. 

In the hours of labor bright, 

Comrade be; 
In the watches of the night. 

Comfort me. 

When the laurel crowns my brow 

Smile and sing; 
Share with me the shadows now. 

Suffering. 

Be thy sob and kiss the last 

I shall know ; 
Now, ere life and love have passed, 

Nestle — so ! 



38 



THE ANSWER 

If power were mine that I might choose 
World-wide and lingering applause, 

Or in the lonely duty lose 
The self in the eternal laws? 

No choice is mine — but you insist, 
With woman's will and waiting eyes; 

I answer boldly — have I missed 

The love-light of your glad surprise? — ■ 

I would choose duty, follow her 

To valley-depth or mountain-height, 

Alone or leader, till the blur 

Closed round me in the final fight. 



39 



BY THE LILY BEDS 

Serene in midnight solitude 

Lie lawn and grove of the Park; 

Those lovers in a longing mood 
Clasp hands within the dark. 

The moon from a mild and starry sky 

Smiles as if she had guessed 
It is the farewell night of July 

And the lilies are at their best. 

O snowy bloom of the lily pond, 
With the leaves like curious shells; 

O blessed moment — and beyond, 
The years where the secret dwells! 

The summers rise, the summers wane, 

The lilies open, close; 
Shall love lose its rhythm of cheer and pain 

Ere the early winter snows? 

Cling closer, love, by the lily bed. 
Lean where the gold-fish dart; 

The moon is radiant overhead, 
More radiant be thy heart. 

Our lonely lives from birth to the grave 
Know rarely a night like this; 

Cling closer, till the lips we crave, 
Against our wills we kiss! 



40 



Ave atque vale 

April thrush and oriole 

Sing by every branch and bole; 

Music masters melancholy, 
Soul respondeth unto soul — 

Ave atque vale? 

In those days of sv^^eet unrest 
Passion conquering, long repressed. 

Promised vi^isdom, brought us folly; 
Now w^hen silence seemeth best — 

Ave atque vale. 

Roses red and white of June, 
July lilies by the lagoon ; 

By and by the Christmas holly, 
Snow across the desolate dune — 

Ave atque vale. 



41 



HOMEWARD FLIGHT 

Like a wounded eagle flying 

To the nest, 
So my broken heart flees crying 

To your breast. 

Faith can see the nestlings flutter 

Far away; 
Hope hears loving words you utter 

While I pray. 

Shattered eyrie, tempest-shaken 

To the sea; 
Bitter heart, of love forsaken 

Fatallv ! 



42 



MAN AND WOMAN 

Were their spirits born of God, 

Shaped of protoplasm, 
Between them now and evermore 

Yawns a bridgeless chasm. 

Hail across it best ye may 
Wavering word or daring; 

In the darkness let there be 
Responsive flames a-flaring. 

Many a festal shout is heard, 
Many a message bidden. 

Smile or frown is dimly seen — 
Then the face is hidden. 

Venture not too near the brink 
Lest you faint and stumble ; 

You shall find no mate below. 
Only bones that crumble. 



43 



THE NIGHT OF PARTING 

Starlight skies, a mood of trust — 
And you are questioning by my side ; 

Nay, not all akin to dust, 
Soul shall abide. 

Yea, I think that God is near. 
Though the silences are wide ; 

Closer, bringing fairer cheer 
Than lover to bride. 

Moonlight now — the lonely shore — 
The slow, but urgent inward tide; 

One last meeting — evermore 
Meetings denied. 

Almost at your shrinking feet 
Now the impatient waters glide; 

With those distant bells and sweet 
Yesterday died. 

Wilder than an angry sea 

Was our passion's early pride ; 

Peace at last for you and me, 
Purified? 



44 



ALONE 

Toiling throught the blinding tempest, 

Under a pitiless sun, 
Long the journey till the darkness 

Tells the day is done: 
O, if we had walked together 

How the hours had run! 

Weary of the fated failure, 

Weary of success. 
Now at last all earthly voices 

Are growing less and less: 
O, if we had shared together 

All were blessedness! 

"On his brow a leaf of laurel, 

On his breast the rue ; 
Man is born to sin and sorrow, 

Best his days be few" — 
O, if you had bowed there weeping, 

Heaven had been true! 



45 



" I DINNA KEN " 

Will she my soul has chosen mate 

Scorn even the crepe upon my door; 
Or enter, trembling, now too late. 
When voice of mine may vex no more, 
Unheard among the sons of men ? — 
/ dinna ken, I dinna ken! 

One eager moment shall those eyes 
That ever turned so swift away, 
Rest on a faded glove that lies 
Year after year, in work or play. 
Upon the desk within my den ? — 
/ dinna ken, I dinna ken! 

Will she who welcomed many a song 

But smiling said, "Sing not to me," 
Read the unfinished rhymes and long 
To bring from death's dark treasury 
The word that waited for my pen ?— 
/ dinna ken, I dinna ken! 



46 



EBB AND FLOW 

Watch the apple-blossoms blow, 

With the warblers northward passing; 

Watch the shifting banks of snow 

When December clouds are massing; 

Joy of Maytime, winter woe — 

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 

Grandly rye and barley grow 
Into fields of golden wonder; 

Comrades of our bivouac low 
Underneath the battle-thunder; 

Peace and war must come and go — 

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 

Hour when passion thrills thee so 
Fate herself seems friend and lover; 

Hour when wounded, fainting, slow. 
Spirit creeps to nearest cover; 

Soul must master yes and no — 

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 

Ashen cheeks begin to glow. 

Motherhood transforms the maiden ; 

Fatherhood has met the foe, 
Pace on, slowly, heavy-laden ; 

Throe of birth to dying throe — 

Ebb and flow, ebb and flow. 



47 



TO-DAY 

The April violets have passed, 

The roses yet delay; 
What wilt thou with this racking blast 

Of hail to-day? 

Thy spray of laurel withers now, 

But death denies thee long; 
What wilt thou with this wrinkled brow, 

This bitter song? 

One holy prayer forever still, 

Its comrade yet unborn, 
What wilt thou with the harlot's will, 

The girlish scorn? 

Dim are thy fathers' faith and plan, 
The prophets leave thee lone; 

What wilt thou with this heart of man, 
This God unknown? 



48 



THE UNFULFILLED 

O sad enough the shattered ships, 
The birdlings dead within the nest; 

But sadder far the scornful lips, 

The unmated woman's withered breast 
Whereon no babe has pressed. 

O sad in the dungeon-gloom of doubt 
To learn our soul no more believes ; 

But sadder far the summit-shout 

Unvexed by love for him who grieves 
In failing hope by the scattered sheaves. 



49 



AN AUTUMNAL DIRGE 

"Mother Earth" and "Father God"— 

So the preacher said ; 
Bloom the gentian, goldenrod, 

He lies dead. 

O the splendor of the skies, 

Blisses of the air, 
Flaming glories of the year that dies 

Sweet and fair! 

"Of that spirit shall the flame 
Burn with enduring light;" 

Soon, too soon, the earthly frame 
Fades from sight. 

"We shall follow on to him ;" 

So we dream or trust, 
But the way is very dim 

Through the dust. 

"Father God" and "Mother Earth"— 

Which shall hold us fast? 
Few the years between death and birth, 

His are passed. 

"Mother Earth" and "Father God"— 

So the preacher said; 
Bloom the gentian, goldenrod. 

He lies dead? 



50 



AN EASTER CREED 

"The body of Jesus opened the womb, 
The body of Jesus hung on the cross; 

'The body of Jesus rose from the tomb, 
Or belief is a loss'? 

I believe in the violets empurpling the crest, 
The golden corydalis bloom by the brook; 

I believe in the thrushes building their nest 
In the barberry nook. 

I believe in the cardinal warbling at dawn, 
The song of the indigo-bird in the heat; 

I believe in the grass growing green on the lawn, 
In the winter wheat. 

I believe in the spring by the rock on the hill, 
The river that carries the schooner to sea; 

The meadow in sunshine, the forest a-thrill 
In the wind's agony, 

I believe in the emigrant dying alone, 
Lost from the caravan crossing the plains; 

I believe in the mansion his grandchildren own 
He lives and attains." 

These were the words from his lips and tongue 
Where enemies wait with ready scorn; 

Who knoweth the hopes that his heart has sung 
On that Easter morn? 



51 



SONG OF A BROTHER 

Intrenched in the might of ages 

The Emperor scorneth me; 
He heeds not the perilous, blood-red pages 

Born of his tyranny. 

From my crushing pain and labor 

He turns away in disgust; 
For my simple, loving, loyal neighbor 

His gift is a bayonet thrust. 

Cathedral choir and steeple 

Assert his love of God, 
But over the patient, suffering people 

He stands with Satan's rod. 

A banquet of babes in the palace. 
And chains on the mothers' feet; 

The curse of a million souls in the chalice 
The Emperor findeth sweet. 

O God, O God, I am praying 

To save my soul from hate — 
Smite from my hands the power of slaying 

Ere it be too late! 



52 



THE INHERITANCE 

Unmeasured hate has raged on earth 

Since beast could leap or crawl, 
But here our pathway leads from birth 

Unto the sheltering pall. 

The curse of blood is on our race 
Since the crime of treacherous Cain, 

But human is our destined place 
In the cosmic home of pain. 

There are stains on the banner we love best, 

From Georgia and Mexico, 
But the lives of the holy, east and west, 

Shall cleanse it white as snow. 

Edict of Worms and Latimer's stake, 

Eve of Bartholomew — 
O sinning Mother, for thy sake 

Pray for children wise and true. 



53 



INDIVIDUALITY 

You thrill at the flight of a meadow bird, 
My senses crave the crowded street; 

From man or nature no one word 
Makes both our pulses beat. 

This is the hour you would be free, 
When will of mine would rule a slave ; 

You hear victorious melody 
When I dream of my grave. 

"The anchor is hoisted, sails unfurled; 

O scent of the sea, and flash of the foam" — 
"Make voyage, you, around the world, 

But I abide at honve." 



54 



MY OWN 

I would suck the bitter, perilous fruits, 
I would chew the bark of nauseous roots, 
I would gnaw the wolf's abandoned bone, 
If I might find my own. 

Lash me atop of the swaying mast 
Amid the sleet and the midnight blast 
That blends with the breaking vessel's groan, 
If I may find my own. 

Shackle my feet and bind my hands, 
Bear me a slave to deadly lands 
To strike all day on the stubborn stone. 
If I may find my own. 

I would woo the fever's wasting heat 
With the taunting demons at my feet, 
The sunken eyes whence reason has flown. 
If I might find my own. 

Tear ofi the wreath the master gave, 
And break the marble over my grave 
To be by brambles overgrown, 
If I may find my own. 



5S 



CHALLENGE TO THE QUEST 

He scratched on a granite rock unhewn 
The dim design of a cosmic rune — 
Have ye wisdom now to gain the boon? 

He broke few twigs on his thorny trail, 
And many were torn by the teeth of the gale- 
Can ye follow on through the snow and hail? 

He hung a charm on the cavern wall, 
With power over love and hate and all — 
Through the slimy darkness one must crawl! 

He wrote the word in an open place 
Where the tidal waters began to chase — 
If you wish to read, 'tis a venturous race. 

He left one gem on the glacial crags, 
Another fell on the crater slags, 
One lies in a dying beggar's rags: 

If ye bind these three by a spray of heather 
Alone on the moor in stormiest weather 
You will find his soul and yours together. 



56 



TO THE OUTWARD-BOUND 

In neither mart nor home reveal 

The secret of thy mind ; 
Tell nothing of thy maddening zeal 

Unless to the mid-sea wind. 

In the hour of shattering surge and rock 
Thy wreckage will be plain; 

Or if after calm and tempest-shock 
Thy ship hails port again, 

With spices from thy chosen isles 
And sail to the top-main-mast, 

Delay thy prayer, thy gifts and smiles 
Till the cables bind her fast. 

O many a dream and many a quest 

And many a daring vow, 
And many a ship drifting east and west 

Silent from stern to prow! 

The seasons are long, the oceans wide. 
There are coasts without a chart — 

The secret of thy course confide 
To God and thine own heart. 



57 



THE LITTLE THINGS 

Better be glad for the little things — 

An April violet, 

A field of clover, dewy-w^et, 
A shady lawn where a robin sings 
Above the tea-tray Fanny brings — 

That may be all you will get. 

Better be glad for the little place 
You hold in the big world yet; 
A daily task and a sinking debt. 
And surely one, if only one, face 
To smile a welcome to your embrace — 
That may be all you will get. 

Better be glad for the passing year 
In spite of its pain and fret; 
Remember the neighbors you have met. 
The hours of health after desolate fear, 
The familiar hours of household cheer — 
That may be all you will get. 

Better be glad for life's little day 
From dawn till the sun has set; 
Pass with a smile, without regret, 
While thy nearest comrades pause to say: 
"We loved him, bury him, haste away"— 
That may be all you will get. 



58 



THE WANDERER 

Because he searches not your goal 

He has no life at all? 
Because he wanders, an altered soul, 

He has not followed the call? 

Search him not by shore or street, 

Stay in the ancient place; 
If it chance your bodies meet, 

Remember not his face. 

Live your life by day, by night, 

Obeying the vision old ; 
But if God granteth thee new light 

Be thankful — and be bold. 

Then some mom when the lilacs bloom 

But the wrathful skies are wide. 
Pray unto Him whose gracious doom 
Blesses the flower and the thunder's gloom. 
And find him by your side! 



59 



THE SEARCH 

I am nobler than my bliss, 
I am deeper than my pain ; 

Roses blossom through the kiss 
Of sun and rain. 

Soul is more than saintliness, 
Self more tragic than my sin ; 

Before my portal curse or bless- 
Not within. 

Were you really seeking me? 

It is willed of God, you say? 
Find me — by the polar sea, 

Or Milky Way. 



60 



TO A LEADER 

Be not as one who in languor rehearses 

Unfelt and unstudied his part; 
Be not as one who gives blessing or curses 

From the moods of a wavering heart. 

Firm in thy spirit and fair in thy measure 

Unto the destined ones give; 
Hoard not and waste not thy pain-purchased treas- 
ure; 

Live that thy fellow may live. 

Fix thou the purpose, decree thou the fashion, 

Say when the moment shall be; 
Speaking in calmness or singing in passion 

Words of the disciplined, free. 

Soul that shall cry to thee, stranger or brother. 

Find thee responsive to need ; 
Owning one Master, He and no other 

Shaping thy will and thy deed. 

Power of planets obeying their courses 

Thrills through thy atom of dust; 
Strength of the streams from the sea to their sources 

Waits the command of the just; 
Love with his eager, omnipotent forces 

Pleads for thy trust. 



6i 



THE WAIF-DREAM 

Born of mental, moral, throe, 
Helpless at thy door of life, 

Wilt thou heed the coward's "No" 
From master, friend, or wife? 

Cherish with caress and word. 
Dreaming in a slavish spell. 

Till from its cruel lips are heard 
Messages from hell? 

Nurture it with prayer and tears. 
Sparing not reproof or rod. 

Till, some sleepless night, appears 
Likeness unto God? 



62 



A MOOD OF THE GLOAMING 

How fast the darkness merges 
Till in the morning all is lost, 
And many a marvel of the frost 
Is shining in the autumnal sun, embossed 

Upon the river verges. 

How fast the daylight passes. 

Till the swifts are circling in the sky, 
The blackbird flocks wing darkly by, 
And scarce one sees the faded leaves that lie 

Upon the lingering grasses. 

How soon our holy fancies 

Are shattered by the fleshly blow; 
Within the chapel, ere we know, 
Beside the crucifix the unconquered Foe 

Of Son and Maid advances. 



63 



A MOOD OF THE MORNING 

White flag and a herald of truce 

Advance from the army of giants; 
The air clear of smoke, peace after shouts of abuse 
For a moment, then hell again shall break loose, 

For this is the answer, Defiance. 

Fails the last comrade, the will 

Whereon I had placed firm reliance, 

Of the shame, the terror of battle, at last has its 
fill ; 

What then? — on alone, sternly calm, crying still, 
This is my answer. Defiance. 

Win the world-fight, if ye can. 

Cross of faith and vial of science; 
Charging, they grant me no time to fathom your 

plan. 
Only to fight and fall like a man — 

To die in unbroken Defiance. 



64 



COMRADES OF MINE 

From East and West, 

From North and South, 
From the mountain's breast 

And the river's mouth ; 
From lands where the corn and wheat grow best, 

From lands of sullen drouth. 

Met by day, by night, 

Year out, year in. 
In the failing fight 

Or the ranks that win. 
On the heights where life was love and light. 

In the sulphurous chasm of sin. 

Known face to face 

In dream or deed, 
Of many a race 

And many a creed ; 
One like a flower of cherished grace. 

One like a trampled weed. 

Would I might sing 

One song, one line, 
Half answering 

My soul's design 
Close unto you for aye to cling. 

Comrades, Comrades of mine ! 



65 



"WORKING TOGETHER" 

In May the oriole's golden flame 

Flashed through the catkins of the willow; 
The bees of half the village came 

And swayed like birds upon a billow. 

From the gnarled branches hangs a swing; 

In sunshine and in rainy weather 
Our mingling voices rise and ring 

While merry-mad we "work together." 

When swift across the shady yard 
The dusk of summer-eves is falling, 

We whisper, trembling, "harder, hard — 
I see the ghosts, I hear them calling!" 

Far from our danger near the ground 
The swing is moving higher, faster. 

Until it sweeps to the farthest bound, 
And no dread ghost may be our master! 

How Life has mocked our boyish play; 

You toil beside the Yukon River, 
I in a city old and gray 

Where the Atlantic surges qyiver! 

In all the darkness of the years, 

O playmate, playmate like a brother, 

Each trembles lonely in his fears, — 
No more in joy we "work together." 



66 



And many ghosts of sorrow creep 

Around us when the night is falling, 

When, all alone, we cannot sweep 

The swing beyond their touch and calling. 

Do still in May the orioles come 

To flash and sing within the willow? 

Do still the bees in music hum 

And sway like birds upon a billow? 

TWILIGHT BY THE MALL 

The moonlight creeps across yon gilded roof, 
And northward far of massive block on block 
The spire of Grace is dim ; the stubborn rock 

Echoes beneath the roar of wheel and hoof: 

Along Broadway — a human warp whose woof 
Is spun by hurrying crowds that bridgeward flock ; 
Some with glad faces, some who seem to mock. 

Some sad, and some who coldly hold aloof. 

Yet here is calm for which the self has sought! 
When crushing grief and stormy rapture meet 
And mingle here, as night subdues the day, 
Be silent, till thy anxious soul has caught 
The harmony wherein the incomplete, 
Defiant, private note must pass away. 



67 



INSIGHT 

I saw no beauty in the bower, 
I murmured, "Let us pass" — 

He bent and plucked a perfect flower 
From out the trampled grass. 

I heard her laughter, but no glance 

Revealed her loyal soul — 
He found a heart above all chance 

While all the ages roll. 

I read unmoved the master-line 

Of wisdom's majesty — 
He whispered, smiling, "This is mine. 

My ship is launched to sea." 

I heard the praying of the priest, 

I saw the incense rise — 
But he sat welcome at the feast 

With saints in Paradise. 



68 



THREE VISITORS 



One crept across my sunny day 

Of humble solitude; 
Ere noon the sky was cold and gray 

From his imperious mood. 



One sped across my lonely night, 
Too swift for glance or word ; 

I only saw a trail of light 
That left me vainly stirred. 



I labored early, labored long, 
Shaping my piece-work well; 

And every hour was like a song 
Beneath her blessed spell. 



THE COMMON DAY 

Nor dread nor beautiful the sky, 
No fragrance scents the air; 

The patient year is waiting to die, 
The fields and woods are bare. 

Our souls hear no celestial song 

Redeeming earthly need ; 
No vision vast of human wrong 

Arouses heroic deed. 

We may not feel the impassioned throb 
That blessed life's earlier days; 

We may not fear the pain and sob 
That wait in coming ways. 

Whether days the future hideth yet 
Or those long dead are best, 

To-day we question not, nor fret, 
Content in God to rest. 



70 



HOMEWARD BOUND 
I 

Home from every wandering 

Silent would I creep at last, 
To quench my thirst beside the spring 

Where my childhood days were passed. 

I am faint in the halls of fame 

From bitter word and envious look — 

Are they waiting yet, the same 
Bee and bird beside the brook? 



II 



In the flaming haunts of sin 

Faces that I sought are strange; 

if I might find within 

One cottage door no sign of change! 

1 would kneel beside her chair, 

Feel her hand upon my brow. 
Whisper, "Exiled everywhere, 
I have found my shelter now." 



71 



Ill 

I have lost Thee in the dark 

Of chosen sin and cureless pain ; 
I can find no guiding mark 

Till I hear Thy voice again. 

Call me — by the rose in bloom, 

By the anger of the sea; 
Call me to the final doom 

If the pathway leads to Thee! 

CADENCES 

A glow-worm's tremulous gleam, 
The rising sigh of the river breeze, 

A silent cuckoo's flight 
In the darkening trees — 
And all the day fades into dream 
When falls the night. 

A reverent wondering 

At something very sweet and strange; 

The conquering stars above 
All cloudy change; 
Old sorrows die, the soul must sing 
When Cometh love. 

The rose of life denied 

The heart which nourished long the bud; 

The body's baffled breath 
And chilling blood — 
The soul's lost vistas opening wide 
When cometh death. 



72 



SONGS BEFORE DEATH 

O Poet, unmated or wedded to wife, 

Feeble and fleeting thy breath; 
Sung in the stillness or sung in the strife 
All thy songs fashioned in fullness of life 

Are songs before death. 

The silence may fall with the roses of June, 

Or delaying for many a year. 
With the winds of March or December moon, 
But the soul that in living has uttered its tune 

Shall hail it with cheer. 

THE FINAL CHOICE 

It is not given to command 

The place or season when we pass; 

Men die on the feverish desert sand. 
On city pavement, meadow-grass. 

One dreams of death in the battle-roar 

Of imperial foe's artillery; 
One prays, "This faithful friend, no more, 

To watch alone with death and me." 

Some long for a dear ancestral room. 

Some for the crag where the glacier slips; 

For one — a valley where roses bloom. 
And a new-bom song upon his lips! 



73 



THE PERFECT WORD 

Clear to the sudden, final gate 

Wilt follow urgently? 
One more breath for thee shall wait 

That the perfect word may be. 

With fainting heart and feeble sense, 
Thy purpose, thou shalt know. 

Above thy suffering impotence 
Attains in that last sharp throe. 

No fellow spirit may be stirred, 

Believe thy mastery. 
But thy farewell singing shall be heard 

Of Death, of God, of Thee. 



74 



HARBOR SONG 

O my soul, art thou grave 
At each flash of a crest? 

Leave the wind and the v 
Unto God — be at rest. 

For the sea and the sky 
Are less dear unto Him, 

Than thy loneliest cry 
When the harbor is dim. 

In His peace is thy pow^er, 
And His joy is thy right, 

Though hastens the hour 
Of the storm and the night. 

Hail the harbor with cheers, 

Or perish with song 
That may pardon thy fears 

To the Lord of the strong! 



75 



NOV 11 1912 



iGR^Sf«\ 




